


predjudice

by noahlikeswaffles



Series: such lovely blood [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Human John, Insecure Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Protective John, Sherlock Whump, Vampire Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29114523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noahlikeswaffles/pseuds/noahlikeswaffles
Summary: An angry row with John convinces Sherlock it's his turn to do the shopping. A group of hunters and a closed 24 hour grocery lead to a bit of a kerfuffle.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: such lovely blood [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2135322
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	predjudice

"Sherlock! Can you at least try to clean up? You've got blood all over the carpet, Jesus," John gagged, the carpet squishy under his shoes, the drained cat carcass on the rug was looking right at him. "Sherlock!"

"Yes, my John?" Sherlock popped into the kitchen, white dress shirt drenched in blood. 

"Sherlock what did I say about neighborhood pets?"

Sherlock's smile thinned, his eyes averted, a bit embarrassed. John's glare was burning on his skin and he scuffled his feet bashfully, "You said not to eat them," 

"Right." John sighed, walking around Sherlock to get some gloves from the kitchen med kit. "I could've gotten you some donations from work if you were desperate, love."

" _It's not the same_ , Jawn," Sherlock whined, throwing his head back and groaning. "The bags are so cold and they taste horrible!"

"Why is everything a struggle with you?" John growled, disposing of the cat into a black garbage bag, wincing a bit at the gnarly teeth marks on it's spine. 

"Jawn I-"

"No, Sherlock, this is _bad_. Do you know what happens to violent vampires, you _cock_?" John grit his teeth as he tied off the bag, pointing an angry finger Sherlock's direction. 

Sherlock gulped, the image of the sunroom at Pentonville sent a shudder through him, his skin crawling. 

"It was just one stray, Jawn," Sherlock grumbled.

"One is enough! You cannot keep doing this sort of shit. If you're bored, call Lestrade, or me."

"I was _hungry_ , John. And you're _'anemic'_ today!" Sherlock aggressively used air quotes.

"Oh, right, I forgot, everything is always my _fucking_ fault! I'm just a bar tap you keep around for convenience! I forgot that His Lordship can't lift a bloody finger around here or wait two hours till I get home before he fucks around and gets his arse is gaol! Fuck this, I'm your husband, Sherlock, not your maid."

John tossed the dead cat at Sherlock, whose eyes had widened to saucers.

"What? John, no I didn't mean that at all! I-"

"Sod this, Sherlock. You kill all you want, see where that gets you. I'm done." John snarled, shaking his head and grabbing his jacket.

"Wait! John!"

John was already down the stairs. 

Sherlock swallowed and set the sack down on the floor, rushing to the window, peeking out at the street, the lamps flickering to life in the dusk. 

John looked angry, and Sherlock's chest was getting rather tight. Was he having some sort of breathing abnormality? He furrowed his brows, his throat closing and his eyes tearing. 

Oh. I'm _crying_. 

He slumped down into John's chair, nose pressed to the fabric that smelled so sweet and familiar. He hiccuped wildy through sobs, his cheeks wet and hot and itchy and he cried even harder at how horrible it all was. 

In the back of his mind, he knew John wasn't leaving. But the childish sentimental part of him wailed, John was gone. John might never come back! 

John was right too. Sherlock was a mess. God, who would want to deal with him? He was disgusting. 

Sherlock peeked his eyes up to see the open empty cupboard, and whimpered. He hadn't done the shopping. Oh God, John must _hate_ him. It was already a pain to deal with his sick desires, his thirst. And he didn't even do his bit around the flat! 

Sherlock stood. He'd make it up to John, he'd be good. He'd get John's favourite jam and do the laundry and he wouldn't drink at all for at least the rest of the week. 

If he could just show him, John might want to stay. 

* * *

Closed. 

Sherlock growled, his coat collar turned up and his hands tucked in his pockets. He gave the "24/7 convenience" sign a withering stare. 

This was the only place open at this time of night! He growled and kicked a pebble under his shoe. How typical! He turned on the dime and huffed away, but not before crashing straight on into a group of burly humans.

"Oi, what're you doing, _Dracula_?" Came a snarl from the angry passerby and Sherlock froze. Crucifix around his neck, switchblade in his pocket (balance of probability says it's pure silver) and the horrible stench of holy water coming from all three of his friends. 

Oh God. Religious gang tattoo on his neck, Sherlock noted with a shudder. Oh God. Where's John? He needs John. His nerves were soaking in fear and his fingers shook in his pockets. 

"Please excuse me," Sherlock ducked his head and tried to step around them, only to be splashed in the face, his skin burning. He shrieked, tumbling to the ground and wiping at his eyes. 

"Grab him!" the leader laughed with a wolfish grin, the other two clenching their hands around his forearms. The fourth throwing a cloth over his mouth, the rotten stench of garlic leaving him dizzy and confused. They dragged him into the skip. 

"Feel the wrath of the Lord, you demon!" He felt the silver blade slice across his cheek. He shouted as they rained attacks on him, his screams silent through the sheer horror of it. 

He hissed, trying to thrall them to stop! Just stop it! 

"I'm not fighting you, I don't want to hurt you, please!" 

"You're pretty weak for a vampire, you wretched beast," Spat one of the goons. 

He gasped as a holy water was poured all over his clothes and his hair, his entire body convulsing and shaking. 

"The power of Christ compels you, wicked creature, die and be no more!" 

Sherlock screamed at the sight of the stake, kicking his attacker in the balls. 

"Fuck you, stop it! Stop it! I work for the police!"

"The police want you freaks gone just like the rest of us."

Sherlock could concede that Anderson and Donovan might agree. 

"Oi!" 

The group of hunters turned and gasped at the sight of a man with a gun, with a dangerous glimmer in his eye. 

"You let go of him, or I _will_ kill you," He growled darkly, his feet planted solid on the mucky concrete. 

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm John fucking Watson, you arsehole,"

John shot him the leg. 

"You fucker!" He screamed, his friends turning to run, only to find themselves cornered. 

"You boys can go, but if you lay another finger on him, I won't aim for your leg."

* * *

"Oh Sherlock, oh darling, are you alright?" John whispered, knelt down and inspecting the gash with a tut. Sherlock trembled, soaked to the bone and John growled. There wasn't much he could do but try and keep Sherlock comfortable as he fought through the pain, "What the hell happened, love?"

"Needed...jam..." John quirked an eyebrow but seemed to realize what'd happened. 

"Darling, I was getting the groceries, you berk. Oh, Sherlock, what have they done?" John brushed his knuckle across Sherlock's pale cheekbone, his broken skin such a rare sight. 

"John be careful, don't- don't touch my blood- just in...case," He sputtered, shakily grasping John by his cardigan. 

"I won't love, I won't."

"M'sorry, m'sorry about the cat,"

"Sherlock, I'm not angry with you," John whispered reverently, eyes soft and understanding and Sherlock wanted to cry. "We should call the police, Sherlock,"

"No. No police. I- I shouldn't have bumped into them. Stupid. I should've run."

"You did nothing wrong, Sherlock, they were in the wrong. They tried to kill you, for what, touching them?"

"I'm a monster, John. I've killed people!"

"Well so have I, am I monster?"

"No, of course you aren't Jawn,"

"Logic falls apart there, doesn't it love?"

Sherlock didn't reply, only hissed through the cramps. 

"Okay, we've gotta get you home, I'll make you some soup."

"We..don't have...food."

"Then we'll order takeaway, you berk, hold onto my neck," John wrapped Sherlock's arms around him and hefted him up bridal style. "God, you're heavy for being so skinny,"

Sherlock smiled softly, tucking his nose into John's warm neck. His John would always take care of him. 

**Author's Note:**

> comments sustain my existence <3


End file.
